Yardwork

Yardwork (Part 1) By Mudcub stories@mudcub.com

"Get yer pigsnout in here," Davey barked at me.

I knelt forward. But I knew what was in the rubber glove long before I got my nose over it. It was filled with shit. Dogshit in particular.

It was a long "opera length" rubber glove that went all the way up to my armpits, covering my shoulder and forearm down to my hand. And it was filled with dog turds half way.

"Stick yer arm in there," Davey ordered, holding the glove open.

I looked up at him. He was a real handsome man. Six foot four, a real tall guy, and lean. He weighed less than me, and I was eight inches shorter. And he was my "handler" for the afternoon and my Master, so I had to do anything he told me to do.

I summoned my courage and stuck my arm into the glove. When I touched the top layer of dogshit, it felt cold and wet, like it had been sitting around for a while and starting to rot. It certainly smelled like it.

My fingers pressed through the first layer and it was like clay. I could feel the separate harder turds as my moved my hand through them towards the bottom. And then I hit liquid. A slimy slick texture, like a smoothie that had been in a blender.

It was hard work mushing the shit to the side to stick my hand into the glove part. I ended up pushing several turds into the fingers. My hand was encased in cold crap... the motion pushed the stink out the top the glove and I got a whiff.

Davey did too. "Whooey! Yer gonna be wearing that for a while, so ya better git used to it."

I flexed my hand inside the rubber glove. I noticed I couldn't really move my fingers very much because of all the pressure of the dogshit surrounding it.

"Make a fist," Davey ordered next.

He had a shorter rubber mitten in his hand. Almost like a boxing glove. This one had no fingers. I balled up my hand.

"No, not like that," Davey said, pinching his hand together to show me. "Do it like yer gonna fist someone." And he grabbed the outside of my hand and squeezed it together, like it was shaped like a goose neck. Like a crisco-covered fist going into a slave's rectum.

My hand slipped into the mitten, and I could make a fist at the bottom. I noticed that this meant I couldn't move my fingers at all now. I felt the clammy shit ooze between my fingers and slide up my wrist. My hand was effectively useless while wearing the mitt.

"Next one," Davey said, and held out the second glove.

This one went on faster since I knew what I was supposed to be doing. However, it felt just as bad. The awful stench, the gross sensation of my forearm plunging into the stinky shit.

Then my other hand went into the second rubber mitt, and I was helpless.

Davey produced some duct tape, and wrapped it around and around my upper bicep. That way, the long gloves wouldn't slip off in any way. He took a second length of tape and went around the top of the rubber mitten, sealing it to the opera gloves. No dogshit could come out the top now... my hands were sealed inside the nasty soup until Davey took them off of me. It was going to be a long afternoon.

"Shall we begin?" Davey asked.

Davey led me to the back yard. It was a glorious summer day. Kind of hot... I felt sweat start to trickle down the sides of my torso as I crawled behind my Master. But besides the rubber gloves, I was completely naked: no boots, kneepads, or hood.

I looked nervously at Davey's back yard. There was a fence, but it wasn't very high. I tried to see if any neighbors could see me crawling around on the grass. I didn't want anyone seeing me our here butt-ass naked. I knew there were other houses nearby. But I guess the way it was arranged, Davey's yard had privacy.

It wasn't a very big back yard, maybe an eighth of an acre. Enough to need a lawnmower once a week or so. In one corner was a puddle of water, as if there was a hole there where the rain gathered and didn't drain off.

Davey stopped, so I stopped suddenly, sitting on all fours like a dog. "Sit," he commanded, walking away from me. "Stay!"

"As if you had any other option," he said with a grin.

I watched Davey as he walked around the corner of his house to the side alley. It was funny... I did feel like a dog, waiting expectantly for his Master to come back. I wondered if it would be inappropriate if I barked at him.

After a minute, Davey came back holding a five gallon plastic bucket: the orange kind from Home Depot. "Now," he said, "I want you to fill this up with all the dog turds from the yard..."

I looked down at my hands, sealed in rubber and duct tape.

"Of course," he added, "you'll have to use yer pigmouth to transfer them all to this bucket."

I looked up at him surprised. I bet I looked like a dumb dog with my mouth open.

He placed the bucket on the concrete patio next to the lawn. "You have two hours. Better get started."

With that, he walked over to the sliding glass door. "No standing up, either!" he called out over his shoulder. Davey went back into the house. He shut the door behind him, leaving me out in the back yard.

What? I knew Davey wasn't kidding. We had played together enough that I knew he could carry out any threat he made to me. There had been "punishment sessions" a few times when I had fucked up an order he gave me that I didn't carry out correctly. My ass was black and blue for over a week from the last time.

But this was disgusting. It was way beyond anything we had done together before. It was bad enough that my hands were squelching in the stinking mess trapped inside the rubber gloves. However, using my mouth was another thing entirely!

I looked around the yard. How bad could it be? I knew Davey had a big old German Shepherd that he loved which was named Tomboy. I had never seen the dog, but I had seen photos.

And there in the grass next to me was a dog turd. It looked pretty old. It was hard and dark -- black almost. But it was huge! Tomboy must be a pretty big dog to produce something like that. The turd was about an inch and a half across and eight inches long. It was broken into two pieces, and looked like a piece of dried pottery.

I thought for a second, and then decided I should get it over with as soon as possible. And before I could think any more, I leaned over and took the smaller of the two bits into my mouth.

It was worse than I expected. I ended up getting a mouthful of grass. As the dog turd hit my tongue, and I could taste the flavor of it. I started retching, spitting out the turd involuntarily. It hit the ground with a thud. A long rainbow of brown of saliva stretched from my lips down of the shit below me.

Fuck. I spit a few more times, trying to get the flavor out of my mouth. It tasted like rotten food, like burnt flour -- an animal smell of meat and dry paste. It tasted like dog food smells, a liver and blood kind of reek. It definitely didn't taste like anything a human would eat. A few bits of grit-like sand stayed on my tongue, and I spit a few more times getting the remnants out of my mouth.

It was then I looked around me. Now that I was closer to the ground, I could see a whole bunch of dog turds just in the five-foot area near where I was kneeling. There must be twelve of them just within reach! There was no way I could do this. I sat back on my haunches and looked into the house.

Davey was sitting on the sofa in his living room watching TV. He was pointedly not looking at me. I got a little mad. Then, I got a little sad. A whole bunch of emotions flooded through me all at once. I was humiliated. And disgusted. And fearful of what would happen if I refused to do this task, and Davey decided to take his anger out on my hide.

And then, all of a sudden, I got a little horny. I felt my dick stir. Ever get that feeling? My cock seemed to ignore what my brain was thinking, and I felt the first stages of arousal. I wanted this, didn't I? I had begged, absolutely BEGGED Davey for a hard scene the first time we got together. And that first "light BDSM" scene had turned heavier the next time we played. Spanking and bondage and cock sucking had evolved into whipping and piss drinking and mummification for hours.

Which is how I got here.

So, I had made my bed, and I should lie in it. This is what I had become. I had never refused Davey, never used a safeword or denied him in any way. I loved the man. And I knew that he loved me back, in his own way. This was a trial or a challenge, and I knew at that instant that I would do this. Willingly.

I bent over again. I held my breath... I thought that maybe the dog droppings wouldn't be so vile if I just couldn't smell them. This time, I gingerly used my lips and teeth to pick up the shit without getting a whole bunch of grass and dirt in my mouth along with it. I breathed out my mouth instead of using my nose.

The turd sat squarely on my tongue. It was really dense, and heavier than I expected. I jerked my arms and legs over to the bucket and spit on the turd. It hit the bottom of the container with a thud. Then I puked again a little bit, spitting and drooling into the bucket.

I sat on my butt for a minute. I did it! The flavor stayed in my mouth... like a bitter aftertaste. I panted, my head reeling a bit.

And my dick was rock hard. Fuck. I reached one of my rubber hands down to my cock, and touched it. I wondered if I could jack off like this, my hands trapped in big puffy rubber mittens. I bet I could.

Then another thought occurred to me: I think this single turd took me ten minutes to transfer. Maybe longer. The only thing worse than cleaning up all the dog waste from the yard is if I worked hard all afternoon and still didn't finish. I'd have a mouth full of shit and I would still get punished. That would be worse than not trying at all.

Suddenly full of energy (or maybe it was panic or fear), I trotted over to the remaining half of the turd. This one was longer, and as I bent down to pick it up with my snout, I realized I wouldn't be able to fit it all into my mouth. A good two inches of it stuck out of my mouth like a shit cigar. I was worried that it might fall out or break apart, so I hurried over to the bucket and dropped it in.

There was more retching, but not as bad as the first time. I tried to spend as little time as possible spitting and gagging into the bucket. Time was running out.

One down, a whole yard to go.

As I crawled, I felt my hands mashing into the shit filling the rubber gloves. It was warm now, and soft semi-liquid shit squished up around my fingers and wrists every time I put my fists down. I imagined that my hands would be stinking of dogshit for a long time after the scene was done, even after repeatedly washing them. The rubber gloves were definitely ruined.

I decided to think about this more carefully. I noticed that a lot of the turds were really close to the bucket, as if Tomboy didn't like to walk too far to do his business; I imagined that he urgently stepped off the cement patio and took a shit as soon as he could. There were several piles of dog shit right around the bucket, so I wouldn't have far to crawl to get them.

I found the nearest one I could, and scooped it up into my mouth. This one was pretty small, and I thought for a second that I could spit it the three feet into the bucket, like a basketball shot. But then I thought better, and decided against it. I didn't want to risk missing, and then I'd have to pick it up again off the cement. Worse, I didn't want to risk making a mess on the patio that Davey might see and dislike.

The next two turds were really dried out, like they had been there a while. This wasn't too bad. There wasn't a lot of taste. I could breathe through my mouth and pretend that it was something other than dogshit in my mouth. A jawbreaker maybe. Or a rock. Back and forth I went, transferring the next few turds from the lawn and spitting them into the bucket.

Then I came across a really fresh turd.

Oh fuck, this was awful. The crap was a light brown, like it was from a different dog. I imagined that it was still steaming, like Tomboy had crapped right there an hour earlier. I could see the ridges and cracks in the huge turd, like a long tan roll of play-dough or something.

I closed my eyes and dropped my face to the ground.

The turd was not only soft, but it was in one huge piece. I got the thinner end into my mouth, but it dropped down over my bottom lip. In surprise, I spit it out. I retched a couple of times, shaking my head at the sensation.

There was dogshit all over my chin. I turned my head instinctively and rubbed my face against my shoulder, leaving a stinking brown smear on my right upper arm. Oh fuck, oh fuck. I could smell it so much more than the other ones.

I looked down at the fresh sausage. Where I had spit it out, the spot was now an unformed mess, a pile of goo without a tail end. This was going to be horrible.

I had to mash my face into the pile in order to get a mouthful into my jaws. I had to use my lips to squeeze off a manageable amount that wasn't too large. I felt my stomach rise, and for a second, I was worried I my stomach contents were going to come up and spew all over the grass, splattering the pile of shit.

And I knew that if I puked my lunch up, Davey would make me clean it up by eating it again. THEN I'd have to continue cleaning up the original pile of dogshit. I sure didn't want that to happen.

I lurched my body over to the bucket and spit out the slurry of paste that was filling my mouth. Gack. Pew. I made wet noises as I tried to get everything out and into the bucket. My lips were covered in shit. It was on my teeth. I could smell it really bad now, since a bunch had gotten on my face. I tried to find something to clean my face off, but there was only my rubberized arms to wipe myself clean.

And at that moment, something changed. I accepted it somehow. I was dirty, and I was going to stay that way until Davey cleaned me up. This was the way that it was going to be, and I was resigned to my fate. I was a dirty dog.

I sat back and looked down. My dick was still hard, and now it was drooling precum onto the cement patio. But I didn't want to jack off. Even though I was still really horny, I had a job to finish.

I crawled back to the pile. I shoved my face into the warm mushy cream. I had to. It was the only way to pick up more of the mess. My cheeks hit some of the crap, and my chin got in it a bit, too. I took a bigger mouthful than the last time, and hurried over to the bucket for my revolting task.

Man, it took four trips back and forth to clean everything up. By the end, my face was smeared and then inside of my mouth was covered with soft dog crap. The spot where the shit had been was still smeared with brown muck. I considered maybe licking the grass clean with my tongue, but decided against it. Surely Davey wouldn't make me do that, would he?

I took a break for a minute. How much time had gone past? Forty minutes? An hour? The sun was starting to set, so I knew the afternoon was ending soon. I couldn't imagine doing this job at night with only the porch light to see by. Davey wouldn't keep me out here all night, right?

I went back to work, and picked up eight more harder turds. Luckily they weren't as soft as that horrible one. I'd like to say that I had gotten used to the taste by now, but that would be lying. Every turd was as bad as that first one. My tongue had the constant flavor of dog kibble, like the way dry dog food smells. Earthy and crunchy somehow. I tried not to think about it, but I couldn't help it. Every turd I took into my mouth was a struggle.

Plus, my arms and legs were starting to ache. I wasn't used to this crawling back and forth to the bucket. Also, the grass was kind of wet, so as I had to go further and further away from the patio, my legs were starting to get muddy from the dew on the lawn mixed with dirt. My shins were covered with blades of grass, and my knees were stained brown. A "mucky pup", as my granddad would call it.

On and on I went, transferring each hard turd from the lawn into the bucket. Oh fuck, there was one that was white. I won't describe that one too much, but it was definitely rotting. It had gone beyond dried out and hard, and had started to break apart. When I took a bite, it dissolved instantly into a mouthful of dried sand. I can't tell you how bad that was, it sucked the saliva out of my mouth and covered my tongue.

I suddenly worried about worms, about maggots that might be in the dog shit. Was Tomboy a healthy dog? Fuck, I hoped I would get parasites or something. This was awful. My mind was playing tricks on me, and I suddenly felt very sick.

My dick was soft by this time. And I was not feeling very aroused at all. I was kind of in a trance, mindlessly going back and forth from the lawn to the bucket. My legs itched and my mouth was irritated a bit, like the dogshit was acidic or something and eating at the lining of my cheeks or something.

I was moving slower, plodding ten feet, twenty feet away from the bucket in search of turds in the farthest corners of the lawn. They were harder to find, as if Tomboy didn't visit these areas as much. I shook my head form side to side, scanning the grass for hard-to-see spots of brown that I could pick up.

I was turning into a machine: a human vacuum cleaner for dogshit.

I had just picked up a large turd into my mouth when I heard a noise behind me. Davey had evidently come out of the sliding glass door when I was wasn't paying attention and was standing right behind me.

"Having fun, pup?"

Fuck! I turned around a looked at him with scared eyes.

There he was. He was wearing a different outfit now, head to toe in a rubber catsuit. I had seen him wear it before, and he looked fantastic. Davey was always muscular, but the polished black latex really showed off his physique well. I fell stupid looking up at him with a huge lump of dogcrap in my mouth.

"Now, I know how hard it must be for you to crawl back and forth all day," he said with a smirk. Davey knelt down next to me a looked at me with an evil grin.

"Why don't you just chew up that mouthful you have, and swallow it? That way, you won't have to go all the way over there to spit it out!"

I couldn't believe my ears. What the fuck? I had just picked up a turd in my mouth a minute ago. And I was starting to get cocky... it was a really big mouthful. After thirty or so turds, I was getting "good" at carrying a large amount of shit in my mouth so I wouldn't have to make as many trips. And the amount I had balanced on my tongue was a lot. A lot.

I looked up at Davey with sad puppy-dog eyes. Surely he wasn't going to make me do this, would he? But I noticed that slung off a belt he was wearing around his waist was a paddle. THE paddle. The paddle Davey used for our punishment sessions. I knew the feel of that paddle well, and I knew he wasn't afraid to use it.

Could I do this? I had eaten Davey's shit before. Months ago, he had made me lick his ass. Then, he made me lick his ass when it was dirty, when he didn't wipe it very thoroughly. I was his toilet paper, he said, and he made sure that every time he took a crap, I was there to clean him up. And then we progressed to eating under the rimchair. I had eaten his shit when it was runny, when he wasn't feeling very good. I had eaten it when he was constipated and had a huge solid load for me. I knew what Davey's shit tasted like, and I kind of liked it.

But this was a completely different thing. This was something he had never made me do before. I steeled my courage. I took a deep breath. Then, I closed my eyes and bit into the log that was in my mouth.

It was hard like some of the others. But as my teeth sunk into it, I was shocked that there was a creamy center. Like uncooked dough. This was way worse than I expected. The hard crust gave way and the inside of the turd spurted into my cheeks like the filling of a donut. If I thought I knew what dogshit smelled and tasted like before now, I as mistaken. Chewing the shit brought out so many odors that the scent of it went down my throat and came back up my nostrils, choking me.

I swallowed the first part. Then I involuntarily barfed. The other half of the turd shot out of my lips onto the grass. I heaved, and some bile rose up from my throat. I coughed and hacked my lungs out into the grass. Stars appeared before my eyes and I thought I would pass out.

Davey laughed at me. He didn't move to help me, and let me hunch over the lawn, my stomach sick. It took me a few minutes to gain my control back.

"Yer not done yet," he said, pointing at the slop below me.

No no no no no, my mind yelled. Anything but this. But then some part of me, deep down inside, had me lay down on the grass on my belly. I don't know why I did it. My head right over the mush, I dropped my face over the sludge covering the grass, and I slurped up the shit into my mouth.

I don't know why I did it. I guess I wanted to make Davey happy. I wanted him to be proud of me. It took all the reserves I had, but I swallowed the half-chewed slime down my gullet with one sucking motion. I didn't even really taste it; it went down so fast I don't think it hit my taste buds.

And that was the secret. I got up on all fours, and I looked up at Davey. He reached up and scritched the top of my head, like I was a dog. "Good boy," he said, and it was true. I felt like a Good Boy. Like I had made my Master happy. I had done something I never thought I could do. I was filled with a mixture of disgust and humiliation, but also pride.

Davey got something else from his belt. It was a collar and a leash. He looped the collar around my neck, and buckled it behind my neck. Then, he linked the leash to it with a snap. It was a good feeling, like being a real dog. I was owned.

"C'mon," he said, standing up and pulling on the leash.

He walked with me in rows up and down the lawn. Every time we came to a pile of shit, he made me bend over and eat it. I learned the trick; I kept as much saliva in my mouth to wet the turd, and then just took a few bites to soften it up into a manageable lump. Then, I tossed my tongue back so the turd slipped quickly down my throat.

It was still horrible. Every time.

We got to the puddle in the far corner of the yard, and Davey had me drink. "You'll want something to wash it down with, right?"

It was a pool of foul brown water that had been standing a while on the grass. I was definitely going to get sick from this, I thought. I wondered if it was worth it. But I knew better than to complain.

I bent over and lapped at the water like a dog. It tasted stale and dirty, but was actually kind of nice. It got a lot of the grit and kibble cleaned away from under my tongue. I took another swig and swished out my mouth, cleaning the softer shit off my teeth. Then I swallowed.

"It's muddy here," Davey noted. "And you know what dogs like to roll in, don't you?"

I looked down at the mud and sludge under me. I got the idea. I sat my butt down in the pool, feeling the cold brackish water on my ass.

"No," Davey said, yanking on the leash. "Get on yer back. ROLL in it."

I flipped over. Damn this was cold! I wriggled my back against the slimy earth. Slippery mud quickly coated my ass and then back of my legs.

"Keep going," Davey ordered. "Flip over and do the front."

I rolled like a dog doing a trick. I wriggled as much as I could, until my chest and belly were coated in muck.

Davey smiled. "That's a good dog! Now you look like a real mutt. Get yer face in there too."

I did as he asked and plunged my head into the puddle. My nose his the mud at the bottom and I wiped it back and forth. Now there wasn't an inch of me that wasn't covered in smelly dripping ooze. I got back up on all fours and looked up at Davey.

Davey looked back at me. "Ready?" He asked, and started walking, yanking me on the leash away from the mud. We walked a few feet and then he stopped, pointing at yet another dog turd.

"Dogs like to roll in smelly stuff, too, right?"

He stepped on the leash and it pulled me down to the ground. I did a belly flop on the grass right on top of a pile of fresh shit. What the hell, I surmised, and squirmed into it, smearing it on my chest.

We did that again and again. Sometimes Davey pulled me on my back. I shook and wriggled into every pile of shit we could find, until I was a little less muddy, but smelled worse.

Davey dropped the leash. "Stay there," he said and walked away. A few steps away from the puddle he stopped. He bent over and picked up a dogturd, and then another. His rubber catsuit covered his arms and hands, so it was no problem for him to touch the soft crap. With both hands full, he came over to me and mashed the dogshit into my face.

"That's a good boy," he said again, massaging the crap into my ears. He smeared my forehead, and rubbed a huge glop of shit into my hair. It was gritty, and felt like having my face washed with an abrasive soap. It stunk awful, and Davey took more shit and rubbed it under my nose.

Two more trips, and Davey got more shit. He lubed his pinky finger with a whole bunch of crap and pushed it my one nostril. And then the other. I was feeling kind of worn out by this point, and I just sat there with my head hung down submissively.

Filth was dripping over every inch of my body. Davey made sure I rubber dogshit into my pubic hair around my cock, and into each armpit. Davey reached around and felt the crack of my ass. His dirty rubber hand slid down the crack of my ass. For a second I was worried that he would shove a hard dog turd up my ass, but he didn't.

I started to get hard again. I couldn't believe how dirty I was. But at the same time, I was feeling kind of around. I loved all the attention I was getting from Davey. I loved the feel of those rubber hands of his rubbing all over my body.

Then it was all over and Davey stood up again. "Damn, you stink, dog," Davey said looking at me.

"There's still a bunch of shit left in the yard."

I looked up at him worried. Would this be the punishment now?

But instead he just smiled at me, humored at the fear in my eyes. "Aw," he chided, "But you did good, mutt. We'll leave that for another day."

I was relieved. I wanted nothing more than to get up and get these squishy rubber fistmitts off me. Then take a long shower. Then another shower. I thought the scene was done for the day and I thought we were going to do something else.

Instead, Davey pulled me by the leash over to the wall of his house. There was a water spigot, and he tied my leash tightly to the handle with only a few inches of slack. For a minute I thought he was going to hose me down with a cold spray from the garden hose.

Instead, Davey stepped away from me, and I couldn't see where he went. With my face tied right up against the wall, I couldn't turn my head to see him walk away. I heard the sound of the sliding glass door open.